


You Ok?

by Ghostinthehouse



Series: Demon and Angel Professors [131]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Professors, Christmas, Disabled Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Multi, Nail Polish, Other, amatonormativity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:21:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27169234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostinthehouse/pseuds/Ghostinthehouse
Summary: Warlock dragged Adam off to their room after the evening meal, claiming as their excuse that they hadn't seen him all day and his nails needed fixing.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Warlock Dowling/Adam Young
Series: Demon and Angel Professors [131]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1412962
Comments: 23
Kudos: 666





	You Ok?

Warlock dragged Adam off to their room after the evening meal, claiming as their excuse that they hadn't seen him all day and his nails needed fixing. Adam raised an eyebrow, but didn't otherwise protest. Neither of them chose to correct the sly adult smiles flitting about the lounge behind them. If they wanted to make assumptions, nothing would prevent it anyway.

Adam cleaned the remnants of the chipped red and green polish off his nails while Warlock checked which bottles, brushes, and stencils they'd packed.

Once they were both done, they settled on the bed, sitting facing each other.

Warlock cradled Adam's left hand in their own, and began to paint a dark blue base onto them, the quiet, gentle, repetition of it all soothing their aching nerves and rattled memories.

Adam asked, "You ok?"

Warlock did a practised imitation of Crowley's headroll and didn't look up.

Adam sighed. "I'm sorry, I got..." He trailed off, his free hand plucking at the quilt beneath them. "Being here - it sometimes feels like I'm eleven again."

Warlock did glance up then, their expression caught between a smile and a grimace. "All the noise," they replied softly, as the brush traced the edges of Adam's little finger. "It reminds me of the parties my father used to throw."

It was Adam's turn to grimace. "Stick together maybe?" he suggested tentatively. "We can remind each other that's in the past."

Warlock's smile was more genuine this time. "I'd like that." They switched hands.

Adam fluttered the fingers of his left hand in the air, waiting for the polish to dry. Once it had (and the right hand was drying instead) Warlock painted a golden Christmas star on the middle finger of Adam's left hand and stenciled white snowflakes on the others.

***

Crowley put the last touches to the platter of cold meats (including sliced turkey and ham) and cheeses, covered it, and slid it into the fridge for tomorrow. Neither he nor Aziraphale were much interested in big celebrations. Aziraphale did love a feast, but refused to let Crowley drive himself into pain to cook one, so after the first year, they'd compromised on a cold spread. He could hear his angel in the other room, singing softly along with the traditional Christmas Eve broadcast of Carols from King's College, and carried the mugs of cocoa through to find him.

They didn't really decorate. Oh, there were cards up all over the bookshelves, of course, mostly from Aziraphale's students, but with a scattering addressed to both of them, but not much else. Or rather, they didn't decorate their home. Left alone with no one else to see, they had no problems decorating themselves. For instance, Crowley was wearing an old black sweater that declared "Having a Gay Old Time At Christmas" and was decorated with tacky sequin stars and a Santa sleigh pulled by a rainbow unicorn.

Aziraphale, he saw as he leaned against the doorframe, had decided on dangly earrings each shaped like a rubber duck wearing a santa hat, and a holly-patterned shirt under his usual waistcoat. A tinsel halo lay discarded at a drunken angle over the back of one of the chairs.

Crowley sighed, then came all the way in, set the cocoa on the table and sprawled onto the sofa, draping his legs over the arm to display fluffy white snowman slippers on his feet.

Aziraphale turned at the click of mugs on wood, beamed, and padded over to join him, scarlet elf slippers scuffing softly as he moved. Crowley shifted enough to leave his husband space to sit down and give himself enough distance to watch Aziraphale wiggle with delight at the "scrumptious" cocoa. After all, who needed an angel on the top of a tree when he had his angel right here in his arms? As if the thought summoned the deed, he draped one arm over his angel's shoulders, even as the other one was reserved for cradling his own cocoa.


End file.
